In another place and time there were the lighted forests of green, dripping with morning dew reflected in the crisp brilliance of the spring sun. A sky so blue and cool and warm all at once held the promise of Possibility.
He, in his dim apartment in the wintry-gray city, the streets of which were lined with the edifices of single-minded focus and grubby, greedy desire, often wished himself to this other place in the spring of its awakening. In this other place, which would present itself to him in dreams of such astonishing lucidity as to make him swear reality had reborn, finality was not a word in any being's vocabulary; permanence only fluttered here and there as those who gravitated toward its optimistic promise grabbed on and held as a small child will its protective mother...(to possibly be continually worked-on and probably never completed)
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